


A Conspiracy of Shadows

by heretherebemonsters



Category: Fable (Video Games)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure, Gen, Saving the World
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 16:12:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10312106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heretherebemonsters/pseuds/heretherebemonsters
Summary: Castalia and Althea are drifting Heroes-for-hire in the world of Albion after the Darkness, dreaming of a better life and leaving adventuring behind them. On their latest quest for riches, they meet a few famous faces and get caught up in a plan much bigger and more important than they could have at first imagined.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing you recognize. I only own the original female protagonists.

It was a typical night in Bowerstone Industrial. The sun had sunk several hours ago behind the towering warehouses and factories and night had descended thickly upon Albion's capital city. Some of the dilapidated row houses on the edges of Industrial showed faint candlelight through their grimy windows and the gaslights at the street corners and along the river did little to hold the darkness back. Normally only the brave or foolish would still be out on the cobbled thoroughfares at this hour, most of them whores or thieves, lurking in the night where they felt most comfortable. But tonight was the anniversary celebration of the Battle of Bowerstone. Exactly one year ago, Albion's good Hero King had defeated the Crawler and driven the darkness from the land, with the help of his allies Sir Walter Beck, Sabine, Page, Ben Finn, Kalin, and his older brother, the former king Logan. Every citizen across all of Albion would be celebrating tonight.

The Riveter's Rest was doing a brisk business, as the pub did every night. It was the only drinking establishment in Industrial and many weren't willing to walk all the way to Bowerstone Market to give The Cock in the Crown their hard-earned gold. There was no chance of the Riveter's Rest ever losing enough business to close its scarred wooden doors forever.

A slight breeze swirled the dank mid-summer air hanging over Industrial, lazily pushing the painted sign hanging over the pub's doorway as pools of yellow light spilled out of the leaded windows into the street. Inside the building, the light was almost too bright. One would think the barkeep would rather have the place lit murkily, to keep the shady dealings of patrons somewhat hidden. With the lamps burning so brilliantly, all inside were equally exposed to the scrutiny of every pair of eyes in the place.

A pair of young women sat at the bar in the back of the pub. They came here often, whenever they had reason to be in Bowerstone and the interior of the Riveter's Rest was comfortingly familiar. Still, the faces of the clientele changed almost nightly and no one recognized them, just as there were no features among the crowd that stirred a sense of acknowledgment in them, either.

One of the women was perched on a bar stool, looking extremely comfortable and relaxed while the other appeared a bit more nervous, watchful as she leaned a hip against the bar and gripped her tankard of cheap ale in one hand. Her keen eyes flitted about the tavern, observing everything and everyone. There was an ever-present tenseness in her limbs, as if ready to spring into action at any moment.

“Will you just sit down and relax?” Althea prodded her friend as she took a drink of her beer.

“You know I don't like pubs,” Castalia muttered as she continued to glance around the room. The other patrons were laughing, singing and gambling at various tables as they partook of their liquor. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. Still, Castalia found it hard to let her guard down. When one lived a life such as theirs, one must always be vigilant.

The two women stood out in the tavern. The other bar goers were simple people, factory workers and stall vendors in plain, threadbare clothes come to while away their evening and forget about their cares for awhile in the bottom of a mug. Castalia and Althea were of another breed entirely. They were adventurers, people who made their way in the world on a day to day basis, living by the strength in their combat skills and the sharpness of their wits. This certainly showed.

They were both dressed in a combination of mercenary and highwayman garments and carried their weapons everywhere. Typically weapons were banned in pubs, but after taking one look at them the barkeep hadn't dared to try enforcing this rule. So there they sat in the Riveter's Rest, swords strapped to their backs, a pistol at Althea's hip and a rifle slung over Castalia's sword. They each carried various other hidden weapons, such as the knife inside the top of Castalia's boot and the set of throwing spikes secreted away inside Althea's coat. But even without the solid metal and gunpowder of their warrior trappings, the two would never be completely unarmed as long as they could keep their gauntlets, the old but powerful remnants of both their families' legacies.

“Just lighten up a bit, will you?” Althea insisted as she waved the bartender down for a refill of her beer. “It's supposed to be a night for merrymaking!”

Castalia turned a wry grin on her best friend. “And drinking?”

“Of course!” Althea snorted. “There's always time for a beer!”

Castalia shook her head and decided that maybe it wouldn't hurt to relax a bit. She seated herself on the bar stool next to Althea and took a long drink of her ale. It was bitter and tangy on her tongue and she made up her mind to order a finer brew when this one was gone. If she was going to spend her gold on liquor she might as well spend it on the good stuff.

The thought of spending more gold made her heart sink. Her coin purse was nearly empty and she knew Althea's was no better off. They would have to find work soon or they would be back to stealing and pickpocketing.

A pair of young men pushed up to the bar nearby and ordered drinks loudly. While they waited for the bartender, they cast several interested glances in Castalia's and Althea's direction. Castalia ignored them; she knew she and her friend were rather good-looking, despite their rough demeanor and the fact that neither took all that much care in their appearance. They each boasted battle scars from years of adventuring and were built solidly with defined muscles. Then again, some men were drawn to that in women. That seemed to be the case with these two.

Althea noticed the young men staring and shot them a glare. “What are you looking at?”

The two straightened in surprise and glanced at each other. Castalia sighed and turned to face them as one of them spoke.

“Excuse us, madam,” he said with a slight bow of his head. “We were merely admiring your striking looks and those of your friend, as well.”

Althea opened her mouth to no doubt say something else rude but Castalia cut in quickly. “The sentiment is appreciated, good sirs, but we are just here for a drink, nothing more.”

The second man nodded understandingly, sandy hair flopping into his eyes. “Reminiscing on the Battle of Bowerstone, then?”

Castalia floundered for a moment, not expecting the genial question. Usually, men would just take their drinks and leave the area once they learned that the two beautiful women with weapons on their persons were not interested in romance. Althea took the momentary pause to jump in.

“Not particularly. We weren't even in Bowerstone that day.”

“Oh? And where were you then?” the man wanted to know, taking his drink from the bartender and sitting down on a bar stool. He appeared genuinely interested.

“Oh, I don't readily recall exactly where,” Althea replied, frowning at her tankard which was nearly empty again. “Somewhere near Snowspire Village.”

Castalia remembered that. It had been bitterly cold there but very beautiful. They had ended up there on a journey to find some lost treasure, a certain gemstone which had been missing since the days of the Heroes, some five hundred years ago. Needless to say, the quest had not yielded the fruit they'd been seeking or they would have been much richer for it. Since then, the two of them had decided that chasing treasure was not the way to make a living in Albion; as much fun as it could be, they needed to find a steady way to make gold.

“Snowspire, huh?” The first man had accepted his brew from the bartender and seated himself as well. “Why weren't you here in the city? You look like you two know your way around a sword. The King put out a request for all capable fighters to come aid in the battle against the Crawler.”

“Well, you see, we couldn't particularly be bothered with that at the time,” Althea said nonchalantly. “We had other things on our minds.”

Castalia cringed a bit. Althea always spoke her mind, bluntly and boldly, and didn't care who might hear or who might be offended. Unfortunately, this had gotten them into lots of trouble over the years. She held her breath, waiting for the young mens' reactions. What Althea had said was truth, but truth wasn't always received well.

Initially, the two men appeared shocked. This however quickly morphed into righteous indignation. Castalia braced herself, knowing what was coming next.

“That's rather low of you, don't you think?” the sandy haired man growled. “I stood here in the very streets of Industrial and fought those shadows until it was over.”

“As did I!” his friend piped up. “Everyone who had any combat ability and a sword of their own had the balls to stand their ground and fight here in the city, while you two were off gallivanting in the far north?”

“What concern is it of yours?” Althea demanded, completely focused on the men now, her tankard shoved aside and forgotten.

“It's just not very patriotic, is all,” someone else said from a few feet away. Castalia realized slowly that the entire tavern had stopped what they were doing and were listening in on the exchange as their heated voices had risen louder and louder, distracting the other citizens. She stiffened as she watched from the corner of her eye as Althea's hand strayed toward her hip and the trusty pistol holstered there. It appeared their night of supposed relaxation was not going to end on a pleasant note.

“Yeah, what kind of citizens of Albion are you if you 'couldn't be bothered' to fight for your own homeland?” came an angry voice from somewhere in the back.

“That's tantamount to treason!” came another yell.

“What about your loyalty to our good King? Or have you none of that, either?”

“Traitors!” The cry rose up on one voice, then suddenly on several, then on many. “Cowards!”

Althea leapt off her bar stool. “We are no traitors nor are we cowards!” she yelled angrily. “I do as I please. I bow to no one!” She pulled out her pistol, the Bloodcraver, an ancient weapon whose handle was formed by a long curved ram's horn. It had been in her family for generations and now it was hers to wield. She brandished it aloft. “Not even our good Hero King!”

That was all it took for the entirety of the Riveter's Rest to erupt in an all-out brawl. The patrons surged forward, eager to get at the offending parties. Those too drunk to understand exactly what was happening turned to those closest to them and started throwing punches blindly. Howls of outrage and cries of anger filled the air, along with the sounds of pottery breaking and wood splintering as tankards shattered on the floor and chairs and tables were crushed under falling bodies.

Before Castalia had even moved from her perch on her own bar stool, Althea had leapt up onto the bar so quickly it was almost as if she hadn't moved at all. A familiar maniacal grin was plastered across her face; Althea lived her life for the thrill of chaos, for breaking every rule possible and ruffling everyone's feathers anytime she damn well pleased. She still had the Bloodcraver in hand as she jumped out of the way of several hands that strove to grasp her ankles and pull her feet out from under her. Quick as lightning, her booted foot shot out and smashed into the face of one of the men they'd been talking with before. A loud crunch resounded and the man flew backward with a screech, a hand over his nose as blood gushed from under his palm. Althea's foot flew out again, this time striking another man in the chin, clacking his jaws together so hard he bit clean through his lower lip.

Castalia launched off her bar stool as a man twice her size rushed at her, obviously intent on causing harm. She drew her fist back and swung at the brute as he closed within arm's reach. Her knuckles met solidly with his mouth and she felt something give behind his lips and she knew she'd knocked at least one tooth loose. There was a small spray of blood as her stunned opponent spun away into the crowd, taking down at least three others as he fell.

Their next attackers hesitated; none had expected the two women to be quite this strong or quick. Castalia smiled grimly. She didn't particularly enjoy bar fights, but she would never leave her best friend to fight alone. On the upside, it was always amusing to see the expressions on the faces of the other brawlers when they realized they weren't up against ordinary women.

Castalia raised her right hand, palm up and fingers splayed. She allowed the ancient power to slither forth, to grow stronger and stronger until it was singing through her veins and engulfing her in a bubble of shimmery orange-red light. The ornately tooled gauntlet covering her hand and forearm began to glow, the runes on it standing out in a bright crimson. A small flame appeared in the hollow of her palm and rapidly grew until it was a large, brilliant blaze that was nearly blinding to look at. Castalia saw the eyes of those nearest her widen in fear and she grinned before curling her fingers shut, as if grabbing the fire, and turning her hand to throw the spell at the floor of the pub.

A great sound like a roar filled the air at the same time that a bright light flashed. The fireball spell crackled and boomed as it touched the ground and spread outward in waves that caught clothes, table legs and curtains all equally on fire. It left the floorboards blackened and scorched in its wake.

Cries of terror and pain rose up as the bar patrons rushed for the door and the windows to escape the reach of the spell. Castalia had made certain that the spell was not powerful enough to kill anyone. She merely wanted to clear the place out and stop the brawl. It was so much easier to use her magic rather than fighting her way out with her sword, no matter how powerful the Souldrinker was.

Still standing atop the bar, Althea laughed joyously as the citizens of Bowerstone Industrial pushed and shoved their way out of the pub, shrieking and yelling. She raised the Bloodcraver and fired off a few shots just to see them run faster.

“That was splendid!” she exclaimed, hopping down from the bar.

Castalia flexed her right hand, feeling the power drain from the gauntlet. The runes faded until they could no longer be discerned from the other scrollwork on the piece of armor. She grinned at Althea. “Thanks.”

A shuffling and then the sound of a hammer cocking came from behind the bar. The two women turned to see the bartender leveling a flintlock rifle at them. Besides the two of them, he was the only other person left in the Riveter's Rest.

“Get out, ye witches!” he growled, glaring at them over the top of the firearm. “Take your witchcraft and be gone! And don't come back!”

Althea and Castalia exchanged a glance and shrugged. Althea turned and strode for the door, holstering the Bloodcraver as she went. Castalia reached into her coin purse where it hung on her belt and took out a twenty gold piece which she flipped onto the bar.

“Sorry about the floor,” she said and turned on her heel to follow Althea.

Outside, the night was no longer as typical as it had been. Someone had reported the commotion at the tavern and now the warning bells were tolling, rending the silence steadily. Castalia sighed.

“We better find a place to hide,” she advised Althea as they set off briskly away from the Riveter's Rest, crossing the bridge over the river and continuing on down a street lined on the right by warehouses, the river on the left. “We can't afford to pay a fine if the town guards catch us.”

Althea smiled toothily and held up her coin purse. It was heavy and clanked with the sound of gold pieces. “Actually, we could. But I totally agree with you. I'd rather save this gold.”

“Where did you get that?” Castalia asked, her eyes widening momentarily.

“I lifted it out of the register drawer at the the pub.” Althea chuckled and tucked the money away inside her dark blue mercenary coat.

Castalia chuckled too and shook her head. Her friend must have used the spellcasting as a distraction to grab the money. Castalia didn't enjoy stealing just for the fact that it made her ashamed of stooping that low but she could care less about the fact that she was depriving someone of their property. She usually left the stealing and pickpocketing part of their existence to Althea, who had no such qualms.

They paused at the end of the next bridge, hesitating as they tried to decide where to hole up for the rest of the night. The pounding of many booted feet on cobblestones echoed their direction. Castalia cocked her head as she listened.

“That would be the town guards,” she commented.

Althea grabbed her arm and suddenly pulled her toward the steps leading down next to the bridge. “Quick! This way. There's a door to the sewers down here.”

Castalia followed her friend down the damp stone steps to the ledge running along the waterline. These ledges ran all along the river, on both sides, and served as places for boats to tie up and supplies and cargo to be loaded and unloaded. There were also several doors which led into the labyrinth of sewers underneath Bowerstone. The rumor went that the sewers had been the basis for Page and the Bowerstone Resistance during the rebellion. Consequently, it should serve as an adequate hideout for Castalia and Althea for one night.

Althea quickly found the only unlocked door on the riverside ledge and pushed it open. The door was heavy and made of old wood bound in bands of steel. Castalia stepped after her swiftly and let the door close behind them. The two stood silently for a moment, neither moving as their eyes adjusted to the dim light.

A low stone tunnel stretched away from them, the walls and ceiling curving in a gentle arc. A substantial stream of water rushed down the center of the sloping floor, and the two women were careful to keep their feet out of it as they began walking. The echo of water dripping could be heard all around and the air was dank and humid, heavy with the stink of the garbage and sewage which lay in piles here and there. Rats could be heard chittering and squeaking as they scurried about.

“By Avo, it reeks down here,” Althea complained. The stream in the center of the floor was getting deeper and wider and soon there was no way to avoid stepping in it.

“Hiding down here was your idea,” Castalia reminded her quietly. She was afraid to speak too loudly; everything echoed down here and it wouldn't do for their voices to filter all the way up to the surface through the manholes in the streets.

“I know, I know.” Althea sounded vaguely irritated. “It was this or try to break into a warehouse. And those have guards of their own, you know.”

Castalia made a non-committal sound which could either have been approval or disagreement. Althea ignored her and turned a corner. “Though I suppose we could have eluded the town guards and headed over into the Old Quarter and found a cheap inn to stay at.”

Castalia sighed longingly. “A real bed and a warm bath would have been nice,” she agreed. It had been weeks since they had slept on anything besides the hard ground or a worn blanket. “Though we should refrain from spending much of that gold you pilfered.”

“True enough,” Althea murmured, her steps slowing. She motioned to a dark alcove off to their left. “How about there? It looks like we won't find a better spot.”

Castalia walked into the alcove and tested the ground with her foot. It was spongy but it didn't squish. “It leaves something to be desired, but at least it's free of standing water.”

Althea joined her. There was barely enough room in the small space for both of them and it took several minutes before they were comfortable. Castalia settled down and tried to ignore the dampness that immediately began to seep through her clothes. She reached behind her and unslung her rifle, laying it across her lap. She stared at it thoughtfully in the dim light. The weapon was legendary and bore the title of Skorm's Justice. It was a graceful firearm, the stock finely carved and the barrel made of the finest alloy. It was worth a lot of money, Castalia knew, and she had had plenty of offers to buy it over the years. If she weren't so attached to it, she might have done so long ago. But she would never part with the rifle. Skorm's Justice had been handed down to her from her father, just as it had been handed down to him and so on, for generations within their family. The residual power of many Heroes flowed within the rifle, making it seem to vibrate every time she touched it.

Her sword, Souldrinker, had much the same story attached to it, just as Althea's weapons did, the Bloodcraver and her broadsword, the Avo's Lamentation. If these legendary weapons had not been their birthright as the last of each of their families of Heroes, they might have pawned them before now for the large sums of gold each weapon was worth.

Althea had taken out her coin purse and was quickly counting the gold within. When she finished, she deftly divided the gold into two piles and dumped one of them back into her bag. “Two thousand. Not bad.” She tucked her purse away again. “A thousand for each of us. That ought to tide us over for awhile.”

Castalia filled her own coin purse slowly, Skorm's Justice still across her lap. It would stay there all night, just in case. “For a while, but we need to do something to get a steady income,” she told her friend without looking up as she scooped the last handful of gold into the pouch. “We're never going to be able to live the way we want if we just keep bouncing from one odd job to the next and stealing what we need in between.”

For years, ever since they had struck out into the great unknown of Albion, the two friends had talked of being able to live comfortably, of owning a home of their own and maybe running a legitimate business, such as a weapons shop. The lifestyle into which they'd been born and raised, and which they now practiced, however was not conducive to entirely honest living or constant stores of money. This rough and tumble, fly by night life was what they had always known but they often dreamed of something better.

Such as a life where they no longer had to hide in sewers and sleep on the ground.

Althea sighed. “I know. As much as I enjoy adventuring, there just isn't much money to be made from it.” Her sharp eyes were gazing out into the gloom of the sewers, not seeing much of anything beyond wet stone and trickling water. “If we ever want to own our own place, we can't accumulate enough gold by chasing treasure.”

“And there isn't enough time to save enough through honest labor, either,” Castalia griped with a frown. Althea was already in her twenty-fifth year and Castalia in her twenty-sixth and they had wasted the last seven years living from one payout to the next.

Suddenly, Althea got up, pushing off from the damp ground to splash through the murky, cold sewer water to study something on the far wall. Castalia watched curiously. A moment later, Althea chuckled.

“Come look at this,” she said, waving a hand back at her friend without looking. Castalia got up too and waded over to stand beside her companion, resting her rifle over her shoulder.

There on the wall of the sewer hung a faded, tattered poster advertising Reaver Industries, showing a painting of a great factory and emblazoned with the distinctive double R logo which seemed to touch every part of Albion these days.

“Makes you wonder how something like this got all the way down here,” Castalia mused as one corner of her mouth turned up in amusement.

Althea snorted. “Can't go anywhere without seeing that logo on something. I even saw it on crates in Snowspire Village.”

“Reaver is everywhere,” Castalia said by way of agreement. “Even in the sewers.”

They shared a chuckle over that, then Althea turned thoughtful. “Wouldn't it be something to have the kind of wealth that man has?”

“Mmm, yes.” Castalia was still staring at the poster. “He has more gold than one person could spend.”

“I heard that he's worth millions,” Althea said, a note of excitement tingeing her voice. “He's this great industrialist but you know he didn't gain all the power and money he has honestly.” She paused and then spoke slowly. “What would happen if someone tried to steal from him, I wonder?”

“They'd disappear, never to be heard from again.” Castalia turned her head and looked at her friend. “You can't dabble in Reaver's business without consequences.”

“Doesn't it make you want to plot, though?” Althea asked with a wicked gleam in her eyes. “All that wealth for the taking.”

“Don't be crazy, Althie,” Castalia exclaimed. “The man was a pirate. Or so rumor says. A ruthless, heartless killer.”

“I'm not being crazy!” Althea protested, turning to face Castalia. “I'm brainstorming. Just hear me out for once.” There was a hopeful glint in her eyes that Castalia could never refuse. She motioned for her friend to continue.

“Go on. I'm listening.”

“If Reaver really is worth millions, like they say, do you really think he'd miss a million or two of it? What if we could plan the perfect heist and make off with the gold?” Althea's voice was rising as she talked and her hands moved in the air, becoming more and more animated as she went on. “Or! Better yet, what if we could just simply bring the man down and take all his money, his entire fortune for ourselves?!”

Castalia had to admit she was intrigued by the idea, no matter how reckless and downright foolhardy it sounded. They wouldn't need a steady source of income if they could simply acquire more gold than they could ever spend. But being the so-called 'voice of reason' in their partnership, she had to point out the most obvious thing Althea was missing.

“That's all well and good, Althie, but how would we go about it? Reaver is the most powerful person in Albion, after the King. He has no weaknesses. None. Nothing we could exploit.”

Althea held up a single finger. “Ah but we don't know that for sure. A man with as colorful a past as his is bound to have some skeletons just lying around, waiting to be discovered.”

Castalia sighed. “There won't be any dissuading you from this, will there?”

“Nope.” Althea's tone brooked no argument and she straightened up to her full height, so that she and Castalia were directly eye to eye. Their Hero blood made them taller than everyone except each other and they had yet to meet anyone they had to look up at.

Castalia sighed again. “Alright, fine. We'll hang around Bowerstone a few days longer and see what we can learn.” They had originally planned to leave the next morning, but what were plans when you lived such a broken, unstructured life?

Althea stepped forward and suddenly pulled her best friend into a hug. Castalia was startled for a moment, but then slid her arms around Althea and hugged her back. They didn't often show such blatant affection for one another; it was always more that they each knew the other cared and had their back no matter what, no words required. This hug was just a testament to Althea's excitement over their new plan. If it could be called that.

When they returned to their muggy alcove, Althea fell asleep quickly as she always did. Castalia lingered on the edge of waking and sleeping for much longer, listening to the sounds of the sewers, Skorm's Justice resting quietly nearby. Finally, she too fell into unconsciousness, her last sight the worn, forgotten poster on the opposite wall.


End file.
